


Daddy Issues

by LadyStrangeandUnusual (Dream_Wreaver)



Category: Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Musicalbabes, beetlebabes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:02:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23745763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_Wreaver/pseuds/LadyStrangeandUnusual
Summary: If you think Lydia escaped the events of the musical completely unscathed then you would be wrong
Relationships: Beetlejuice/Lydia Deetz, Charles Deetz & Lydia Deetz
Comments: 14
Kudos: 172





	Daddy Issues

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! It's been a while I know. So let me say, I'm still working on ISS, it hasn't been abandoned. I just got a lot of stuff going on rn and decided to write something to both give myself a break from real work and entice you guys to be patient a bit longer. With that being said, hope you all enjoy!

Despite her relationship with her mother having been arguably closer and more meaningful, Lydia Deetz was inarguably a daddy’s girl at heart. She was his princess, his pumpkin, his precious little girl. While not the best with feelings Charles had always doted on Lydia, loved buying her trinkets and baubles and souvenirs from business trips she kept in a special place in her room to this day. Whatever Lydia wants, Lydia gets. Or so it had been when Dead Mom had still been around. Dead Mom might have been Charles’ whole world, but Lydia was the reason it existed. Every return from work met with a little flurry of black frills and lace leaping into his arms, happy to see him come home. Even as a sullen and morose teenager, their relationship hadn’t been nearly as volatile until Dead Mom had died.

That had been where it all started. With Mom’s death. With Charles’ refusal to talk about what had happened and Lydia’s refusal to accept his method of grieving because it didn’t suit hers. The introduction of Delia as a way of helping through the pain, even back before Lydia had known just what her father had been getting up to with the woman. Someone to fill the maternal role Dead Mom had left behind. Someone who could make her smile again. To give Charles a bit of credit, Delia was weird. She was quirky, and new age, definitely not the typical high society New York woman. Just like Dead Mom had been. But Delia’s weirdness was a completely different animal to Lydia or her mother’s, and as a result they just didn’t jive. Dead Mom’s death had been a mortal wound, but there was no peace of death. Instead it stayed there, open, weeping, bleeding, festering. With the pain, with the attempts at moving forward, came anger and resentment. Months passed and her father would pass by her with nary a glance, maybe if she was lucky she’d be spared a pat on the head, or a mention of her name as he moved on, moved forward. And left her behind, like the relic of a life he no longer wanted.

Lydia had become desperate in her invisibility. She wanted him to see her, she wanted him to say her name, to really look at her and let her know that she was there, that he was there, and that everything would be okay. But every single time, he fobbed her off on Delia and went away. Away, away, away. He was always away. Pranks, promises, anything to get him to spend time with her again, so they could talk, so they could heal together. But no, there was no more time for Lydia, not anymore. There was only time to move forward, and leave her to follow in progress’ wake.

That day, that night. First learning that they were unexpectedly moving, leaving the home Dead Mom had loved so much behind in New York. And for what? To move forward, to move on, to forget what had happened. To be brushed off after a coy attempt at humor. Lydia’s preoccupation and fascination with death had been something she’d always possessed, from staging elaborate public execution scenes and witch trials with her dolls to the graveyard picnics her and her mother used to go on. Loving death, being enamored with the macabre had all been something Dead Mom had encouraged. But with close personal loss fascination had turned to obsession, and her father had done everything in his power to quash it. Well, everything aside from actually talking about it with her. And she had noticed the deferment to Delia, much as he had when something needed talking about and he didn’t want to play the bad guy. Delia was slowly starting to worm her way into this family. Trying to replace Dead Mom. Trying to take away the only family member Lydia had left.

The Maitlands had been a godsend, a way to finally get her father’s attention back, to make him see her, to make him focus on her once again. And it would get them back in New York, with Delia firmly out of the picture. Just Lydia and her father, and with a little luck Dead Mom. She had to be back in that house, Lydia just knew it. But then, to find her father all disheveled, to find Delia in his _bed_. It had all been too much. And Delia’s discomfort had not been so simple as a moment of passion, an anchor of security in a new environment. Of allowing her morals and position as an employee to have been compromised. This was the simple discomfort of getting caught. Which meant, this had been going on for far longer than this one night. Just how long, Lydia didn’t know for sure. But considering Dead Mom had only been gone six months, it was too long, too soon. And the proposal. The _proposal_. Without even considering her feelings, yet again her father had made a life altering decision because it suited _his_ needs. He needed a wife, and he thought she needed a mother. But Lydia already had a mother, and her mother was dead.

“I wish I was _dead_!” she’d exclaimed, storming out of the room. She’d heard Delia call after her, and she’d heard her father stop the other woman. Choosing to stay with her as opposed to come and talk with the one person who’d been hurt by all of this. Delia was more important, Delia was the one he wanted. Delia, Delia, Delia!

Thoughts of anger and hurt had filled her head as she’d made her decision. Though her ire was palpable, hot, a blaze in her veins, her actions had been almost mechanical. The fire remained in her eyes, but the rest of her was numb. She felt nothing as she rifled through boxes, searched for the paper, picked up a pen and hastily scrawled out what were to be her final words onto the tiny scrap. Alone, she was utterly alone. All because Delia had _stolen_ her father from her. Well, no more. No more would Lydia allow herself to be alone. She was going to meet her end. Reunite with Dead Mom, and finally make her father see her. See her in broken and bloody pieces on the front lawn of his new model home. A fitting end for what he had made her; an outcast, forsaken, _invisible_.

But then, there was Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice. He’d been out there on the roof that night. He’d listened with fear and fascination as she’d declared her intentions to jump to her death. He’d stopped her from doing it, made her feel for just a moment, she had the power to change things. But that was a lie, a pretty little lie, just like her daddy’s promises that he would always be there for her. Just like her mom’s promises that she would never leave her. But at lead Dead Mom hadn’t meant to leave her, unlike her father who was most certainly abandoning her when she needed him most. She’d told the demon as much, and told him that she knew of only one way to make her father regret all that he’d done. She would jump, and he would find her the next morning on the front lawn, lifeless eyes staring up at the sky, and her note crumpled in her hand. He would know it was all his fault, because he’d abandoned her, and chosen his mistress over her. He would live with that guilt for the rest of his days. And when he died, he would never find forgiveness either.

And yet, Beetlejuice had given her something back that night. His own desperation had given her power. That feeling she hadn’t had in so long. Power, control, the ability to change things. And if she could change things, it meant she existed, it meant she mattered, it meant she could be _seen_. It was addicting to watch him grovel on the ground, try to convince her, and leer at her even as he did so. It was (mostly) the attention she’d been craving for six months and had never gotten. She didn’t trust this creep at all, but it was far too easy to imagine her father in his place, begging for her forgiveness, making all the promises in the world just to get into her good graces. And yet, this underlying emotion, this sort of depraved, disgusting sensuality the demon had to him, it was hard to maintain the fantasy and completely replace him with her father. Didn’t matter, she got the same satisfaction pushing him off the roof as she would have the other man.

When she’d been pushed past the end of her rope. When her plan to scare her father out of the house and back to New York, back to Dead Mom had failed, she called on him. He was the exact sort of desperate she had wanted her father to be, pleading, promising, so happy to be needed by her, to be seen. He promised her everything, and with a final utterance of his name he delivered. Her father had been so confused, but Lydia had relished in it,

“You didn’t listen dad,” she’d hissed, “Now this is what you get!”

And Beetlejuice had hopped to her defense, agreeing with her completely. He’d let all manner of hell loose, on the guests, on the caterers, on her father too. The Maitlands arguably could have been spared but Lydia couldn’t complain about the result. The anguish in her father’s voice as he was slapped out of the door, without his daughter in tow. Too little, too late dad, she’d thought with macabre glee. Three days later, upon hearing of his return, Lydia was both elated and frustrated. Elated because he cared enough to come for her, frustrated because she didn’t want him anymore. He’d chosen to throw her away, now she was choosing to do the same. But then, then had come the ultimatum, the descent into hell, and the chase after her. As angry as she had been with him, Lydia loved her father too much to let him throw his life away for her. This was a choice she would make alone. From lowest point to sweet catharsis to her return home to both right the wrongs she had done and get rid of the demon she’d unleashed once and for all, they’d found their way back to each other and they were going to heal together, as a family. A perfect happy ending,

But real life was no fairy tale. And though the adventure had ended, life had moved on. Lydia loved her father, she honestly, truly did. But he’d still gone through with marrying Delia, and while Lydia had outwardly given her blessing, was now currently going to an actual therapist to help deal with her issues, she knew deep in her heart that her relationship with her father had been irreparably damaged. What they had now were the foundations of a new one, built from the shards of the one that had been shattered beyond repair. His abandonment of his grieving daughter because he hadn’t had the strength to talk with her, her choosing and forgiveness of the demon who had forced her into marrying him -alongside her acceptance of his return and current haunting of their house- these were things that went unacknowledged because they both knew those were old wounds not to be picked at now.

Lydia returned home from school that day, uniform torn with bruises and angry red scratchmarks decorating her arms and parts of her neck and face, her legs probably bearing similar treatment underneath the mandated socks. Sullenly she followed after her father, who had had to come and pick her up. Nevermind the fact that she was almost eighteen, Miss Shannon had had her in her office for the entire afternoon. And Charles, Charles had disappointment rolling off of him in waves. Fighting in school, demerits, possibility of suspension because of this. How could he not be disappointed, he’d raised his pumpkin better than this. The Maitlands and Delia looked on in shock, first at Lydia’s appearance, and then at Charles’ minor explanation to them, with the instruction that Lydia should wait in her room until they were done. But Barbara had trailed after her surrogate daughter, first aid kit in hand as she went to dress the living girl’s wounds. She had cared to ask, but she hadn’t wanted to listen.

“I was defending another student!” Lydia had protested, “Claire and her cronies had been picking on her and insulting her family, shoving their rich bitch snobbery in this poor girl’s face. And when I told them to stop picking on her, they turned on me instead. Would you have rather I just let them beat me up and done nothing?”

“Oh Lydia,” Barbara had sighed, rolling gauze over a particularly nasty looking array of scratches and bruising on one particular part of her forearm, “Your intentions were good, I believe that. But starting fights-”

“Forget it,” Lydia had huffed, “I can do the rest myself. I’m sure you’ll want to hear what _dad_ has to say about it anyways.”

“Lydia,” Barbara reached out to her, but Lydia turned away offering nothing but a cold shoulder in response. Feeling helpless, Barbara left the teen to dress her wounds while she went to hear what Charles had heard from Miss Shannon. Surely there was a way things could all work out.

Lydia sat there, muttering to herself, anger and hurt growing more and more as she thought about what had happened. Her father hadn’t even been able to look at her. And instead of reacting in anger for his daughter being unfairly punished, he’d decided to smooth the incident off her record with a nice fat donation to the school’s fund. The ride home had been silent even as Lydia had tried to explain what had really happened. But at every turn he had silenced her. Why did she even bother trying? Her father had taught her to try and stand up for justice where she could, but now that she’d actually done it? She was in trouble and worse, her father was disappointed in her yet again. Was there no way she could ever make him proud without compromising everything about herself inside and out?

“Hey there honeybunches,” Beetlejuice greeted with his usual care free demeanor. He had every right to be, he got to get her father’s goat with the fact that they were still married and the other man could do nothing about it. Pet names like this were something he’d originally started doing just to annoy her paternal figures, but somewhere along the line it had come to be a natural part of their interactions, “Whoa,” he added upon seeing how battered and bruised she looked, “What happened here? Don’t remember leavin’ ya _that_ damaged last night,”

It was a stupid joke, the most they’d done last night was hang out while she beat his ass in every video game she owned. A hug as she bid him goodnight. But he loved making innuendo out of everything, so she let it slide. She was far too upset about what had happened with her father to really care about anything else anyways.

“Got in a fight,” Lydia replied noncommittally, still trying to disinfect the other wounds.

“Nice, my babes is a scrapper!” he cheered, “Always knew you had it in ya!”

Even as she rolled her eyes she couldn’t help the small smile that tugged on the corner of her lips. But it didn’t last as she heard the volume of muffled voices rise and reach her ears. Lydia let out a sigh as she finished up and put the first aid away.

“Hey, hey now,” he placed a hand under her chin and forced her to look at him, “What’s wrong Lydia? You got in a fight, and I’m betting the other guy looks worse. So why the long face?”

Lydia laughed mirthlessly, “You’d hate me for it,” she began, “But the reason I got in a fight was because I was defending someone too weak to defend themselves. I took three other girls on at once trying to protect this freshman, but somehow _I’m_ the one in trouble.” it was funny, in a painful sort of way, “I don’t know what I was expecting,” she shrugged, “I’ve never done anything but disappoint him, why would this time be any different?”

Her laughter tapered off into a slight hiccup as tears welled in her eyes. She stared down at her hands as they rested in her lap, looking but not seeing anything. She was only brought back from the numbness of her thoughts when a big heavy hand, almost warm, plopped itself down on her head, tousling her hair just a bit before sliding down and curling over her shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze,

“Lydia,” the name was hers, but the voice wasn’t his. It was her father’s, “You did good today, I’m so proud of you,”

She closed her eyes tight and let the sentiment wash over her. It was sweet, but it was nothing more than a facsimile. Only an imitation of what she wanted to hear. But the thought was nice, and he didn’t do nice, which made it all the more special.

“I see what you did there,” she said, repeating the same words he said to her after she’d quite literally stabbed him in the back, “Neat trick. But,” she added going off script, “I wanna hear it from you,”

Beetlejuice snorted, “Y’did good babes,” he told her, “Stood up fer yerself and raised a little hell along the way. Who can argue with how good things turned out?”

Lydia scoffed, “My dad can, apparently,”

“Aw Lyds,” he chided her, “Forget that dumbass for now. Y’don’t need a dad, whatcha need is a daddy,”

“A daddy,” Lydia remarked, side eying him from her position right next to him on her bed, “And what, may I ask, is the difference?”

His eyes glittered with unholy light, corner of his mouth slowly stretching into a dark, almost seductive smirk, “Wouldja like me to show ya?”

The hand that was on her shoulder had moved to cup her face, thumb brushing over her bottom lip. He was an incorrigible horndog, but Lydia couldn’t say she hadn’t been feeling the pull herself. He was still stroking, and Lydia felt there was something burning building between the two of them. And she wanted to know what it felt like to burn. She lowered her lip a little, allowing him to dip his thumb into her mouth, and she closed the orifice around it, sucking a little. He was gross, unhygienic, but he tasted sweet. Slowly, she blinked at him, and his smirk grew wider, more leery.

“That’s it,” he rumbled lowly, caressing the side of her face with the rest of his unoccupied fingers, “That’s my baby girl,”

His baby girl. Something about it resonated deep within her. That protective instinct, fatherly yet tainted by dark desire, sinful lust. It was intoxicating, and Lydia closed her eyes, a hand reaching up to cover his own as she put more effort into her motions. After a moment, he pulled away, dazedly Lydia opened her eyes to watch him smear the spit covered thumb across his own lower lip.

“Such a good girl,” he praised, “Now c’mere and give daddy a kiss,”

Oh, daddy, she saw what he meant now. Lydia leaned over and pressed a chaste kiss against his lips, similar to one she might have given her actual father as a child. When she pulled back he still had that sort of domineering sense to his smile,

“Very good,” he continued to shower her with praise, “But let daddy show you what a real kiss is like,”

He cupped her jaw again and kissed her. Deep, hard, passionate. When she gasped in surprise he slipped his tongue inside her mouth, curling his tongue with hers. And around it. Ah, the benefits of being a supernatural entity. By the time he pulled back from her Lydia was gasping for breath, her lips were buzzing and probably swollen, her heart was pounding, and she felt that tug somewhere deep within her.

With a snap of his fingers Lydia was no longer sitting on her bed but standing at her bedroom door. Beetlejuice himself was sitting there, a newspaper in his hands, a set of glasses on his face, and a pipe hanging out of his mouth. He made a show of turning a page before glancing up and then reacting with surprise.

“Why Lydia!” he greeted cheerfully, “You’re home from school! And a little worse for the wear I’d say.”

“Y-yeah…” Lydia replied, still uncertain as to where he was going with this. She had kind of thought they’d just get right to it once he was done kissing her.

“Do you wanna talk about it pumpkin?” he asked, tone all fatherly concern though his eyes were just as predatory as ever, “Why don’t you come sit on daddy’s lap and tell me what happened?”

Lydia slowly padded back over to him, settling on one of his legs and fiddling with her hands while he made a fussy show of checking her over, cooing and tutting over the bruises and scratches.

“I… I got in a fight today,” she began meekly, feeling the shame of earlier censure invade her thoughts and causing her to duck her head and scrunch up her shoulders.

“And why did my perfect little princess do that?” there was no judgement in his tone, just a simple question of curiosity.

“Claire and her friends, they were picking on a freshman. I couldn’t stand watching them do that. And…” she paused a moment, biting her lip, “I knew if I went and got a teacher they’d turn a blind eye to everything. And then…” she shrugged, “I got in a fight,”

Beetlejuice huffed, pushing his glasses back up his nose and vanishing the pipe into thin air, “Well,” he began, “I suppose the correct thing to do would be to tell you that getting in fights is wrong. But you were defending someone who couldn’t defend themselves, and you knew getting an administrator wouldn’t help the situation. You did the only thing you thought you could do. And I’m proud of you for standing up for what you believe in and not letting some spoiled brat boss weaker kids around,” the comforting smile turned salacious, “As a matter of fact, I think you deserve a reward for that.”

“A-” Lydia’s breath hitched, “A reward?”

“Of course,” he purred, “But first,” Beetlejuice adjusted her position on his lap, “We should really look at what happened, make sure you’re not _too_ banged up.”

“O-okay,” Lydia nodded, holding out her bandaged arms, but he bypassed them entirely, “I know how vicious girls like that can be,” he chided her, loosening her school tie and reaching for the buttons of her blouse, “They didn’t go for the throat now did they?”

They had, in fact, but not directly. It was more something that had been a casualty of hair pulling and other fighting maneuvers. Damn those bitches and their fake talons. Beetlejuice clucked his tongue upon seeing the marks, “Well, not as bad as it could have been,” he sighed deeply, “But still a little angry. Do they hurt?”

Lydia was confused by the question, “What? Well… yes, a little I guess,”

“Well we can’t have that!” he proclaimed, “Let daddy kiss it and make it all better,”

The rasp of his scruff on her neck as he peppered kisses against the wounds made her jerk a little in his lap. She’d never understood the concept of a neck being an erogenous zone until now. His other hand came around her waist, holding her steady as he laved and suckled. Her own hands came up and crept over his shoulders, tangling in fabric and hair as he continued the onslaught. After what felt like an eternity, Beetlejuice pulled back and surveyed his handiwork.

“There now,” he proclaimed, “Much better isn’t it?”

Visually, her neck looked worse than before. From a distance one might have thought she was wearing a necklace, a gaudy reddish-purple necklace. In reality though, it was just a circlet of hickeys that decorated her skin, covering the slight raised pink lines where she was marked. Her shirt by this point was completely unbuttoned and hanging off her frame. There were no bruises or scratchmarks there, but he insisted that he had to be thorough in his examination of her. This “examination” basically meant placing kisses and tongue swipes down her body as he worked the rest of her top half out of its garments until she was lying down against her bed, half naked and making sweet sounds of pleasure. And all the while, he lavished her with praise for every action she took to make it easier for him.

“Atta girl, that’s my baby, yer doin’ so good, just like that fer me,” the more he went on, the tougher it was for him to keep up the dad affectation as his words began to slur together with desire. And Lydia felt so, so happy hearing those words from his mouth. That she was doing good, that he was happy with her, that he saw her completely and utterly. And that he liked what he saw.

“Beej,” she breathed, “Beej!”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he chided, moving down and lifting up a single leg to rest on his shoulder, reaching for the sock to make sure there were no bruises on her legs, “Not my name baby,”

“Then what-”

“You know my name,” Beetlejuice told her, “You can do it baby girl, c’mon, say my name,”

Her mind by this point was addled by lust. She wanted to scream his name to the rooftops, or kick him off of her for being a little prick. But, show, he’d wanted to show her something. What had she wanted? There was a brief moment of clarity and she knew what he wanted,

“Daddy,” she whined, “Daddy please!”

“That’s my girl,” he praised her, rolling down the cotton material and tossing it to the side.

There were a couple bruises by her shins but she was otherwise unharmed. It didn’t stop him from trailing kisses all the way up her leg to the hemline of her skirt. He paused, and then repeated the process with the other, this time, taking her panties along for the ride. So there Lydia lay, with nothing but her school girl skirt on, wondering how in the hell she’d gotten to this point with her husband but not hating it in the slightest.

With barely a thought he was shirtless as well, glasses also discarded as he loomed over her. Lydia was trembling, but she didn’t know from what. Nerves, anticipation, a combination of all that and more? But her feelings melted as he kissed her again, causing her to only barely register the sound of a zipper being slid, and the gentle guidance of his hands as he gestured for her to lift her hips. Suddenly, she was naked. Completely and utterly, no further barriers to his gaze. There was a brief moment of insecurity. Role playing or not, in reality Beetlejuice was an old and ancient entity, dead long enough have seen and experienced a lot, especially with how many souls ended up in the Netherworld. He’d surely seen more beautiful than her, more buxom, more curvaceous, more experienced. But he looked at her like she was the most beautiful thing in the world,

“Now look at that,” he breathed, “My baby girl’s so beautiful. So grown up now isn’t she?”

She flushed under his words and preened just a bit. He thought she was beautiful. And that meant the world.

“But yer so tiny,” he remarked, though the tone wasn’t disapproving, “Gonna need to take some work so we don’t break ya. That can wait for another day,”

Lifting up one of her legs again, he slung it over his shoulder as he went down on her. It started easy, just a quick swipe of the fingers between her lips to gather up some juice of her own making and use it for her own pleasure. Playing with the little bundle of nerves, get her wanting this more than she wanted anything. When her hips were canting, he kicked it up a notch. Stuck his fingers inside her, stretching her out, getting her ready to take him while his mouth occupied where his fingers had been. And so he went on, switching the positions of his mouth and hands and licking, sucking, nipping, twisting and spreading. Lydia was panting, writhing, moaning and groaning under his ministrations. He felt the coil of tension in her wind tighter and tighter, higher and higher. Every obscene sound that slipped from her lips and his mouth only fueled desire to fever pitch. He knew before she did when she came. There was the moment where her entire body went taut as a bowstring, back arched and head pressed deeply into the pillows. A moment of absolutely no sound at all, though her mouth was open and she was clearly trying to make it. Then, a sound high and keening met his ears, made them ring, and went right to his cock in much the same way a scream did. In a way, it was a scream. He wondered if he could make a screamer out of her, that would be fun.

But first, a reward. He finished lapping up the fluids that she leaked, eating her out was never gonna be a chore, he could tell, and raised his head. A hand brushed against her sweat slicked brow and cupped her cheek. Lydia opened bleary eyes to see him hovering over her and smiling,

“Good girl,” he told her, “Such a good girl,” then he leaned down and kissed her, forcing his tongue into her mouth so she could know what she tasted like, “Y’taste that?” he asked her, “That’s what good girls taste like, and yer daddy’s good little girl now ain’tcha?”

“Mmm,” Lydia moaned, reaching for his mouth again as a response. Good. Good. She wanted to be good for him.

Beetlejuice chuckled, “Next time daddy’ll teach ya how to suck my cock, just the way I like it. But fer now,” he lined himself up and situated her legs around his hips, “It’s time for daddy to show his baby girl just how precious she is. You ready Lydia?”

She took a deep breath in through her nose and out through her mouth, “Yes,” she breathed back at him.

“Yes what?” he prompted.

Lydia rolled her eyes a little, she liked the play, but this was a bit ridiculous, “Yes daddy,”

“Good girl,” he told her, and with a soft hiss and a pop, he was inside her.

Not all the way, not yet, but he was in, and Lydia felt her own body tighten. Full, only the tip in and she felt full. Well, she was incredibly petite compared especially to him, but she knew there was more. Considering it was Beetlejuice she was having sex with she wouldn’t put it past him to make it so it felt neverending. She knew for a fact he summoned extra limbs, and long ones at that, all the time. Meanwhile Beetlejuice himself was hissing at just how tight and warm she was. So tiny, so delicate, he might end up breaking her without meaning to. Slow, he just had to be slow with this. Nice and steady he began to rock into her, bit by bit, being sure to tell her just how good she was taking him, how amazing she felt wrapped around him in one of the most intimate ways one could be with another person. Soon enough, he was all the way in. and Lydia was fully and completely his.

He began to move, slowly, slowly, but as he felt the heat begin to scald him, searing through his perpetually frozen body it became addictive. And he began to move without regard for Lydia, but his own mindless completion and the spread of that fire everywhere. Even so, he made sure to touch her. Hands all over her body, playing with every erogenous zone he could think of, wanting her to come first because he looked after his baby girl like a good father would. At least, he assumed. It wasn’t like he had the best role models to go off of. Gaps, pants, whines, moans, the slick sounds of flesh gliding against flesh. It felt like forever and was in and of itself its own little eternity. As hot as Lydia was, as hot as she made him feel, Beetlejuice had enough experience on his side to outlast her. With a shuddering cry as she clung to him, Lydia came. And he followed soon after.

Rolling to his side, Beetlejuice gathered up Lydia against him and pulled the covers over them. She was breathing hard, trying to steady her intake of air. He pillowed her head on his shoulder and rubbed comforting circles on her back. It had been a mind blowing experience in more ways than one. Lydia yawned and snuggled up to him, clearly drifting between the waves of consciousness and temporary oblivion. Time to help her out a little.

“You were so good,” he whispered, pressing a kiss against her temple, “So, so good baby girl. Made daddy real proud of ya.”

Lydia hummed sleepily in response, curling up further against him. He could feel her breathing begin to even out, a surefire sign she was dozing off. He pressed another kiss against her hair, and she mumbled something he couldn’t hear.

“What’s that babes?” he asked, still not dropping the act just yet, “Got something you want daddy to hear?”

“Love you Beej,” Lydia yawned sleepily. It was just then that she fell into her dreams. Which suited him just fine, because it meant he wasn’t expected to respond. Sure, she’d broken the play, but she’d said that she loved him, and he knew this time she meant it.

“Love you too Lydia,” he told her. With her fast asleep and thoroughly exhausted, Beetlejuice slipped out of the bed and donned his clothes again. Sure, he could go down there with the bitemarks covering his torso, but that would give the game away. And the best part of any good con, was the reveal.

He popped downstairs and was instantly met with four angry voices. All of them demanding different things. What had they been doing? Where was Lydia? Why had the door been locked and they’d gotten no response from either of them for knocking.

Beetlejuice lit a cigarette and took a drag, “Quiet!” he snapped, “Lyds is sleepin’ now.”

“Why?” the adults demanded. Beetlejuice smirked,

“Had a long day,” he reminded them, “Poor thing was all worn out.”

And she certainly had been after he’d gotten done with her.

“Then why was the door locked?” Charles insisted, willing to put his own mortal fears to the side for his daughter.

“Why do you _think_ it was Chuckie?” Beetlejuice asked flippantly in response, “”M sure you’ve kept your room locked when ya don’t wanna be… _disturbed_.”

“You filthy monstrosity you better have kept your hands off my daughter or _else_ !” Charles was ready to bust a blood vessel. While it was highly likely he was just bluffing, even the mere thought of his precious daughter fornicating with that… that… that _beast_ was enough to give him an aneurysm.

“Your daughter?” Beetlejuice laughed and shook his head, “No, no, no, no, no Chuck. She ain’t _your_ daughter no more.”

Charles felt his blood run cold. But curiosity, cats, and all that nonsense, he asked, “W-what do you mean by that?”

“Let’s just say,” Beetlejuice took another drag from his cigarette and blew the smoke in the other man’s face, grinning darkly all the while, “Lydia’s got a _new_ daddy now.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought. Thank you all so much for reading, until next time Netherlings!


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